


Sherlollipops - She Wears It Well

by MizJoely



Series: 221 Sherlollipops [41]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Coat fetish, F/M, Fluff, Semi-smut, Sherlolly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2292569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizJoely/pseuds/MizJoely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sirsquidfish-thefirst on tumblr said:</p>
<p>If it hasn't occurred to you once that Sherlock has a kink for fucking Molly while she wears his coat then you're completely wrong<br/>you know they'd do it<br/>don't lie to me (◕‿◕✿)</p>
<p>And I said: OK, I won't lie - have an almost nsfw ficlet based on that premise!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlollipops - She Wears It Well

She discovered it by accident, Sherlock’s kink. Coming in from a damp, rainy night, Molly tripped and splashed herself from head to foot with mud. Cursing under her breath, she unlocked her front door and slammed it shut behind her. Since she was now living alone (again), she didn’t go any further than the small foyer before stripping off every stitch of clothing and just leaving it there in a sodden heap.

No lights were on, but she knew her house well enough to navigate in the dark, as long as Toby didn’t trip her up. Which, thankfully, he didn’t. Molly had had quite enough of falling on her face for one night, thank you very much!

She was heading for the bathroom, had just passed the door to her bedroom when she heard a slight noise. Freezing in place, heart pounding in her throat, she held her breath and waited to see if it would be repeated.

Toby’s ‘meow’ made her laugh, a shaky laugh, but a relieved one. “Brat!” she said affectionately as he wound his way around her ankles.

Since she was already near her bedroom, she figured she’d grab her robe from where it was hanging on the hook on the back of the door. She’d just reached up to grab it when she heard another noise - definitely not Toby this time. She froze again, then whipped around, automatically wrapping herself in something she didn’t realize wasn’t her robe until after her bedside light clicked on.

When she saw the sleepily blinking consulting detective rolling onto his side on top of her cheerful pink-and-yellow duvet, she gave another shaky, relieved laugh and wrapped the - coat? God, it was Sherlock’s coat she’d grabbed, not her robe! - more tightly round herself. “Sherlock! I wish you’d find some way of letting me know you’re here so I don’t think you’re a prowler and knock you over the head with a cricket bat or something!”

As she turned to leave the room with as much dignity as she could muster considering her inappropriate apparel, Sherlock spoke. “Molly, why are you wearing my coat?”  


She felt her cheeks flushing as she slowly turned back to face him. “Sorry!” she squeaked, hating how flustered she sounded and very probabably looked. “I just, um, thought it was my robe. I’ll put it back after I…” She gestured vaguely toward the bathroom door and started to back out of the room.

Sherlock, it seemed, had other ideas; he’d risen from the bed, barefoot and rumpled, hair touseled, shirtsleeves pushed up on his forearms, and prowled toward her. “Molly,” he said in a low growl once he reached her, “you aren’t wearing anything under my coat.”

It wasn’t a question, but she felt compelled to answer anyway. “Um, no, I just, I tripped, and got all muddy and I didn’t know you were here so I left my…”

This time she was silenced by his mouth descending to cover hers as he pulled her against his lean form. When the kiss ended she gaped at him. “What was…Sherlock, what was that?” Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face. “You’d better not be using again, William Sherlock Scott Holmes!”

"Drugs? No," he replied, an unfamiliar light in his eyes as he reached deliberately for the lapels of his coat. Molly tightened her grip, but was unprepared for the force with which he yanked the coat open, revealing her nude form to his gaze. "Won’t ever touch them again, especially since I know the consequences."

"What, being slapped?" she asked in a near whisper as she took in the sight of Sherlock Holmes openly appreciating her body.

"No, losing your good opinion," he replied absently. "That won’t do, not now that I finally understand what everyone is talking about."

"And, uh, what are they all talking about?" she asked, distracted by his hands as they traced their way beneath the coat and along her sides to cup her breasts.

He leaned down to nuzzle her throat before replying, “Love. Not such a chemical defect after all.”

Somehow her hands had wound up tangled in his dark curls, and her eyes snapped shut as he continued to nuzzle and nip at her throat. He’d removed one hand from her breast, to her disappointment, but only to wrap his arm around her shoulder, keeping the coat from dropping to the floor. “Are you saying…what are you saying?” she asked, desperate for the answer and terrified of hearing it at the same time.

"Love," he repeated, nipping at her ear. "I understand it now. You love me, I love you. Simple, and yet people want to make it so unnecessarily compicated." He pulled back to peer questioningly into her eyes. "You do still love me, correct? I haven’t missed anything?"

"No," she said, then hastily corrected herself when she saw disappointment in his eyes. "I mean, yes, I still love you, and no, you haven’t missed anything." Her own eyes lit with mischief as she added, "But I guess I have!"

He raised a questioning eyebrow and she giggled. “Never took you for a coat fetishist!”

"Molly Hooper," he growled as he swept her into his arms, coat and all, "the sight of you in my coat is absolutely driving me mad. If that’s what you consider a fetish, then so be it!" His lips covered hers once again, and she twined her arms around his neck as he moved the few steps back to her bed. He laid her down and stood there, staring down at her, sweeping her from head to slightly-muddy foot with his eyes.

Molly knew she should feel self-conscious, or worry that this was happening too quickly, but all she felt was a delirious joy that the moment she’d longed for - but never, ever expected - had finally arrived. And when Sherlock joined her on the bed after shucking his own clothing, covering her exposed flesh with kisses and long swipes of his tongue, his hands touching every inch of her, she decided that she would take every opportunity in the future to wear Sherlock’s Belstaff.

Even in the summer.


End file.
